


At the crack of dawn I will be dead, but you, you will be alive

by UnheardMelody



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Death, Fix-It, Fluff, Lonely Bilbo Baggins, M/M, Romance, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7391887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnheardMelody/pseuds/UnheardMelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Suddenly his mother’s face came to him, the face she had when she exhaled her last breath. She was pale, and her skin was covered by a thin layer of sweat, eyes glassy and forehead burning with fever. She had been suffering, Bilbo knew, and yet she never let out a word about it. She never complained, and he knew she was doing it for him. Because she thought he didn’t deserve to see her suffering.<br/>Belladonna Took had taught him how to live, and in the end she had even taught him how to die."</p><p> </p><p>In which Bilbo needs to die so that he can live and Thorin needs to hold it together through it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the crack of dawn I will be dead, but you, you will be alive

When Bilbo's mother had died, many things had changed for him. Suddenly he had found himself alone in a house that was too big for one person; it had been too big even when both his parents were still alive, and blimey it felt enormous now. It felt like it had been deprived of any trace of life; of course Bilbo still lived there, but that, he thought, did not count. He was too lonely to see that his hearth still blazed bright for him, that his garden blossomed colorful for his eyes.

In those very first days, he had wanted to leave and never return. However, what he did not want was to lose every trace of his parents, all those details that still lingered in the house and revealed that they had been there with him once. In the end this wish had prevailed on the need to go away, and he had stayed. He had clung to the memories of his parents for dear life, and cherished every object they had left him, like he had to keep them safe in case of their return. He supposed it just made him feel better, safer, in a way. As long as their memory never slipped from him, they were not truly gone, and he was not alone.

When he did feel alone, which happened, from time to time, he would go to the hall and look at his parents' portraits, hanged above the mantelpiece. He would gaze at his mother's lively eyes and at his father's benevolent expression and he would be comforted. He had their things, their house, and they were still here with him, and if Bilbo listened attentively he could still hear his mother's laugh and his father's cheery voice lightly scolding her for her manners. Belladonna Took had been a joyful, wild hobbit, very coherently with her Took blood. She had been the one to encourage Bilbo to go out adventuring and looking for elves, which more often than not resulted in him coming home covered in mud and leaves, to which she reacted with a good-hearted laugh and a good scrubbing in the bath. His father, on the other hand, had been a mannerly and kind hobbit, always true to his family's traditions. The only adventure he'd ever been through had been marrying a Took, and that alone had cost him a good deal of his respectability. But he didn't mind one bit, because he knew which traditions were truly important and which were just, to quote his words, utter rubbish. He had fallen in love with Belladonna because she made life more vivid, worth living, and he was not giving her up.

Although they could not have been more different, they were a perfect couple, fitting together like two matching pieces of a puzzle, and when he had been younger, Bilbo had always been convinced that some day he would find the piece of the puzzle that fitted with him, and he would be happy like mama and papa were. But that hadn't happened.

As the years went by, Bilbo had grown accustomed to the idea that in the puzzle that was the Shire he had no matching piece; and in the end he had accepted it, telling himself that it was useless to waste his time being sad about it, when it could never help.

Eventually, he had started wondering when he would join his parents. This happened first when he turned fifty, which was supposed to be only the middle of his life. However, he wasn't sure whether life was holding much more for him. Of course he never spoke of this with anyone, but in the depth of his soul he was quite convinced that he had been left all alone in this big house because someone had forgotten about him. Whatever deity there was, they had taken his parents away, and then forgot to take him too. He saw this as the only possible explanation, as it was evident that he was not destined to marry and have children. Therefore he thought that the above mentioned deity would some day realise their mistake and just take him too, even though he was long overdue. In the end, his heart knew that his life had reduced to waiting, and treasuring what little he had left of his loved ones in the mean time.

Only, he hadn't fathomed that his wait would bring him something much bigger and, Eru bless, much louder: more precisely, a wizard and a company of thirteen dwarves, ready to utterly destroy his tranquil life and shake him from a stupor he didn't even know he was living.

Although he had had his little adventures, he had always thought he had inherited most of his personality from his father; he'd been convinced he would always be next to his father, eyes rapt by the brightly burning flame that was his mother, always undeniably attracted by her livelihood like moths drawn to a light, but at the same time carefully watching from a distance that ensured he didn't burn himself. He would be the one reading of adventures in the books, not living them, always watching like a spectator eager to feel some emotions but also to sit comfortably in his armchair.

Well, that proved to be entirely wrong when Gandalf and his dwarves showed up, setting his Took blood afire and making him realise there had always been a dormant adventurer inside him, he had just never come out because he never had the right stimulus. And when he heard the dwarves singing by the fireplace, Thorin Oakenshield's deep voice thundering above the others, he'd realised he wanted to see those mountains they were speaking of, and not only that, he wanted to meet elves, and see their legendary dwellings, and he even wanted to get to know dwarves, their culture, see their home and admire those treasures they were said to be so skilled at crafting. 

That night, for the first time since his mother had died, Bilbo could see the life in Bag End again; and if he was masking his amazement with a grumpy face, well, no one had to know.

By the next morning, the Took in him had completely taken over, and sooner than he expected he had found himself trailing after a company of dwarves.

Once the initial burst of excitement had died out, Bilbo had started missing home. Many times he started wondering why he had done something so stupid and foolhardy; leaving his house so, and all of his memories. Only Eru knew if he was going to find everything still in place when he got back, well, if he ever did get back. These thoughts were stronger on days when life didn’t exactly cooperate with Bilbo, strengthened by the fact that the company paid him little heed, and Bilbo felt overall quite miserable.

All of this had brutally changed after their unfortunate encounter with Azog and the orcs, and Thorin’s unexpected show of gratitude on the Carrock.

Until then, Bilbo’s contacts with the leader of the company had been very few. In fact, there was hardly anything there to speak of: apart from that night on the High Pass, when Thorin had saved him from falling into the abyss, only to spit right to his face that he’d been lost all the way and should never have come, the king never really spoke to him. He hardly seemed to acknowledge his presence, save a few glares he would send his way from time to time, and which made Bilbo feel even more uncomfortable, if that was even possible.

Bilbo had hated himself all the while. He had hated himself because the more Thorin apparently managed to prove he was no more than an unwanted burden, the more he wanted to show everyone his worth. And not just everyone, he wanted to show _Thorin_ , because somewhere deep within himself, Bilbo knew he wanted to prove himself to the leader, he wanted him to look at him the way he looked at his companions, like an equal. He had hated that Thorin’s behavior made him feel that way, because he knew he was not supposed to seek the approval of a stubborn, rude, pig headed and overly sure dwarf.

Although, a little voice inside his head kept telling him that he wasn’t truly like that, was he. Or better, he wasn’t just that. For all that these things were so far from him and all he knew, Bilbo could still see behind the king’s behavior the great responsibility that he bore. He knew Thorin had embarked himself on a nearly hopeless and suicidal quest, and all this because he wanted to give his people the home that was stolen from them.

Somehow this understanding had made Bilbo hate himself even more, because it prevented him from being as angry with Thorin as he should have liked, and yet it did not take away any of the hurt that he felt. Sometimes he wished he couldn’t read behind the mask so easily.

However, eventually Bilbo had gotten to prove himself, and the result had been more crashing than he would have imagined.

When he’d found himself wrapped in Thorin’s arms, something had clicked into place. And maybe Bilbo couldn’t name it yet, but he knew it had been set off by the feeling of utter rightfulness that pervaded him in that exact moment. He had realized that the king’s arms felt like _home_ , much more than Bag End ever had since his mother had died.

It was such a scary thought, that home was not anymore a place but a _person_ , because people are so much less solid than places, they are so fragile, and they _fade_ , and it should have frightened Bilbo to think that his anchor would be like that. And yet it had felt so damn right and Bilbo had felt so irrationally happy, so complete.

All of this had happened in a split second, and Bilbo had found he felt a bit dizzy after Thorin had released him. He had kept holding his arms though, like he was afraid Bilbo would fall. And secretly Bilbo had thought he was right.

Thorin had stared right into his eyes, a soft yet intense gaze that felt like it was piercing his very soul, and for a moment Bilbo had thought the king had seen his realization, and would suddenly change his mind and abruptly let him go.

He hadn’t, and instead he’d said: “I’m sorry I doubted you” and Bilbo had only dimly been able to register the wave of triumph he felt knowing that Thorin finally recognized his efforts; all of that had been overpowered by those ice blue eyes and all his brain had been able to think of was “ _Home home home_ ” over and over again, each word synchronized with the fast beat of his heart.

From that day atop of the Carrock, everything had changed.

Bilbo had treasured his realization in his heart and had spoken of it with no one. For the first time in so many years he’d felt alive, he’d felt like was not merely surviving, like he wasn’t just waiting for Eru to finally remember to take him too. And he really did not want all of it destroyed, which was why he’d kept everything for himself.

After the realization, quick had also come the knowledge that Bilbo didn’t see Thorin just as a friend, and he probably never had. He felt something stronger for him, although he wished he never understood, because of all things, falling in love with a king whose life is devoted to his people is not exactly the one that can bring the most joy. From the Carrock, it had been a slippery slope, and eventually the hobbit had understood he could do nothing about it.

Of course, the thought that Thorin might feel the same for him had never even crossed his mind, although his behavior since the Carrock had completely changed: it was now evident that the dwarf held Bilbo in great consideration, and always made a point of talking to him from time to time and ask for his opinion. Sometimes he would even gift the hobbit with one of his rare smiles, and Bilbo treasured those memories like a dwarf would have treasured the most precious stones. But Bilbo knew that the king’s mind was focused on Erebor and the quest, and he couldn’t really blame him for this. In truth, he found it deeply admirable and it probably was one of the things that had made him fall for him: his devotion for his people, his will to sacrifice himself, were not qualities found amongst many kings in Middle Earth. Most of them had inherited their kingdoms from their fathers, and saw themselves as above all their subjects. Thorin was never like that; although he was well aware of being royalty, he had had a close up on what his people had had to suffer after Smaug’s robbery, he had lived through it himself. As a consequence, he didn’t see his role as a privilege, but rather as a serious burden, since his people relied on him.

Because of all this, Bilbo was deeply convinced Thorin would be a great king for Erebor, and felt sorrow at the thought that he had been deprived of such role for so long. Which made him even more determined to help Thorin regain what was rightfully his, and to see him safely on his stone throne under the Lonely Mountain.

This was one of the reasons why he was content with dying today at the top of Ravenhill.

The battle had been infuriating outside of Dale when suddenly he and Gandalf had understood a second orc army was going to close in on the united armies of dwarves, elves and men. Even worse, the army would pour in into the valley from Ravenhill, where Thorin was currently trying to take down Azog so that the orcs would remain leaderless.

Bilbo’s heart had stopped beating when he’d realized that Thorin would soon be assaulted by a whole army of orcs, and with him Dwalin, Fili and Kili. For all the hurt he had felt and was still feeling after Thorin threw him out of the mountain because of the Arkenstone business, Bilbo’s love had not faded. He hated himself for it, but he still loved the king and that made him hurt all the more.

He knew he couldn’t let him die, so he’d put his ring on and crossed the battlefield to reach Ravenhill. When he’d got there, it had been too late: Azog’s trap had worked, and now the four dwarves were fighting their way against a much larger group of orcs. But what had been worse was that Thorin was finally having his duel with Azog, and he was not winning it. He had been lying on the cold ice, pinned down by the pale orc who held the claw he wielded as his left arm against Thorin’s sword, aiming at his heart.

Bilbo’s heart had frozen at the sight. It had frozen because he’d been able to see the exact moment when Thorin had decided there was only one way to destroy the orc: he was going to let go. He had chosen to sacrifice his life for his people, and it sent Bilbo mad with fright.

This is why he didn’t think twice before taking off his ring and throwing himself against Azog, Sting whirling in his hands and a desperate cry fighting its way up his throat. He managed to slash at the orc’s side just as Thorin was removing the sword that protected his body; Azog did not fall from his blow, and wielded his clawed stump like a wounded animal, hitting Bilbo hard and swiping him out of the way.

Bilbo could see Thorin’s widened eyes as he slid on the ice, a thick stripe of blood trailing behind him; he looked at it amazed, as if wondering where it came from.

The brief moment of distraction was enough for Thorin to lift his sword and run it through Azog’s heart.

The orc’s body fell on top of the king, suddenly limp. Thorin lifted him off with no little effort, and stumbled all the way to Bilbo, who was now panting heavily, a pool of thick red blood expanding all around him. Bilbo stared at it uncomprehending, until he finally realized that his time had eventually come.

A little smile painted his face.

If his destiny was to die to save Thorin Oakenshield’s life, so be it. He was selfish enough to rejoice in preventing the death of one dwarf, even when thousands of them were about to be swept out by an army of orcs.

Thorin’s shaking arms lifted his weight off the ice easily, like he was a bird with a wounded wing. Bilbo raised his gaze to the king’s face, and realized tears were pooling in his eyes. He was uttering words Bilbo couldn’t understand.

Bilbo didn’t want Thorin to cry. He wanted Thorin to be happy, to be safe, and to rule Erebor as he had always been meant to. After all, Bilbo was already living on borrowed time, and finally Eru had remembered about him. It was only right that he now took the place he thought he should have taken long ago.

“Bilbo, you brave, stupid hobbit, what were you doing?! What did you do? Oh, my brave, little halfling…” Thorin was sobbing the words with utter desperation, clenching the hobbit’s body in his arms, hopelessly trying to apply some pressure on the wound.

Bilbo lifted a shaking hand to Thorin’s face: he had to tell him, he had to make him understand that this was right, that it was meant to happen, and that Bilbo would do it again a hundred times.

“Shh, Thorin, shh” It was so difficult to articulate the words, his breath always getting in the way.

“Thorin, I-I am h-happy. Th-this is n-necessary, b-but you are h-here, s-safe. Th-there is n-nothing I w-wanted m-more” this longer statement took up a lot of energy, and Bilbo took ragged breaths trying to recover.

“No, I can’t let you do it, you have no right! You have no right, I thought you safe, with Gandalf, I thought I would have time to apologize…” Thorin’s voice broke, it shattered like glass on a stone floor, and Bilbo knew the king was in his right mind again, the fog brought by the gold sickness now dissipated. This belief made him even surer about his choice, certain that Thorin would be a good king for his people.

“D-did you r-really think I-I would l-let you f-face Azo-g a-alone? Y-you s-silly d-dwarf… D-don’t c-cry, y-you gave m-meaning t-to my l-life w-when I didn’t th-think it p-possible…” air burnt in Bilbo’s lungs, and he could feel blood gurgling in his throat. Breathing became even harder.

He didn’t fight it. He refused to be desperate about this. Suddenly his mother’s face came to him, the face she had when she exhaled her last breath. She was pale, and her skin was covered by a thin layer of sweat, eyes glassy and forehead burning with fever. She had been suffering, Bilbo knew, and yet she never let out a word about it. She never complained, and he knew she was doing it for him. Because she thought he didn’t deserve to see her suffering.

Belladonna Took had taught him how to live, and in the end she had even taught him how to die.

Bilbo didn’t let out a single wail.

He saw Thorin’s eyes widen, and the last thing Bilbo heard while light faded from his eyes was the king’s wounded cry.

 

* * *

 

 

When Bilbo first opened his eyes, he thought the first person he would see would be his mother. He knew hobbits were supposed to go back to the earth where they came from, and blossom into knew life as trees and flowers and grass. However, he was quite sure he was not grass at the moment, so he supposed they had just been wrong about it, and he was going to meet his loved ones in the afterlife.

Soon enough, he found out he was wrong once again.

When he opened his eyes, everything was quite dark. A very dim light was lit in one corner of the room he was currently into, and for some reason Bilbo had always imagined the afterlife would be a place full of light, so this couldn’t be it.

What proved him that this wasn’t the afterlife at all, unless something had gone completely wrong, was the large bulk whose head and arms were slumped at the feet of his bed. He would have recognized that bulk anywhere, with that glossy black and silver hair held in place by tiny glimmering beads. And if Thorin Oakenshield was here, then he could not be dead. Because he had done all this so that Thorin could live, so there was no way Bilbo would believe they were both dead together.

Well, he was going to find out very soon, since Thorin probably felt him shifting on the bed, and cracked an eye open. Seeing that Bilbo was awake, he lifted his head abruptly, and from his expression Bilbo could guess he was trying to determine whether this was a dream or not.

“Bilbo…” Thorin said, his voice a bit dreamy.

“Thorin” Bilbo replied, himself still trying to assess whether they were both dead.

“You… are awake” Thorin said, still disbelieving. He hadn’t shown any intention to move closer to Bilbo, as if he was going to disappear any moment.

“I am” Bilbo agreed.

And then, something happened.

Thorin smiled.

But it wasn’t a normal smile. It was not one of those bitter smiles he gave when he knew things were bound to go wrong, nor was it one of the playful and fond smiles he reserved for his nephews. No, this was a different kind of smile, one only meant for Bilbo’s eyes, one that spoke of relief and great joy, as if Bilbo had just resumed the rotation of the Earth around the sun just by waking up.

Bilbo returned his smile with one of his own, and he knew now they were both alive.

Then something happened again.

Thorin surged forward, cupped Bilbo’s face in his large hands, and rested his lips against Bilbo’s.

Thorin Oakenshield was kissing him.

Bilbo thought he must be dead again.

Thorin’s kiss was hesitant at first, as if his touch could break the hobbit, but it was also incredibly needy, like Bilbo was his life supply.

When they broke free, Bilbo’s lips were wet, and he was surprised to realise Thorin was crying.

“Never do that to me again, do you understand? I thought… I thought I’d lost you” Thorin said.

“Oh Thorin, I am sorry. I didn’t know this, I mean, I didn’t… I mean, of course I loved you but I didn’t think you… What I mean is…” but Bilbo was sputtering on his own words and didn’t know how to go on, so he just settled for uneasy silence. He was still shaken by the revelation that Thorin felt something for him, dammit, and he hadn’t even understood it! Oh, how blind he had been…

“Wait did you just say that you love me?” Thorin said, eyes locking Bilbo’s in a stare that took his breath away.

“Yeah, well I, well…” but Bilbo couldn’t finish, because Thorin threw himself at his lips again, kissing him more vehemently this time. And that was when happiness truly exploded in Bilbo’s heart. The knowledge that yes, they were both alive, and Thorin most definitely had feelings for him, finally seeped into his brain, and suddenly Bilbo couldn’t stop smiling in the kiss.

When they had had enough of each other, at least for the moment, Thorin explained what had happened after Bilbo had lost conscience. That way Bilbo learnt the Eagles had come to fight with the army of dwarves, elves and men, together with Beorn. This had made sure that the second orc army didn’t overcome them, and was instead scattered and decimated, even more easily now that Azog had been killed. At the end of the battle, many dead could be counted on all sides, but dwarves, men and elves stood victorious.

All of this had happened while Thorin had run as fast as he could towards the healing tents, Bilbo’s limp body in his arms. He had seen Fili and Kili had managed to kill Bolg, and Dwalin had driven off a great number of orcs and was still standing, and then he had done something Bilbo would never have suspected of him: he’d taken Bilbo to the elves. For all that Thorin didn’t like elves, he’d been frightened enough for Bilbo’s life to know only elven medicine could save him. Bilbo didn’t say it, but he was so proud of him. So proud of the great king he now had the opportunity to be.

In the elven healing tent, Bilbo’s heart had stopped. And Thorin had been on the verge of throwing himself to the ground and start screaming, while he held Bilbo’s limp hand and cried, murmuring unintelligible words (actually, Bilbo would learn this later, from the elf that had been in the tent, as Thorin would never admit so himself). But then the rather powerful medication the elf had given him must have kicked in, either that or simply a miracle, and Bilbo’s heart had started beating again.

Hearing all this, Bilbo shuddered, and then was struck by a sudden realization. He had, in fact, died. Just for a few seconds, but he had. And it came to him that maybe a part of him needed to die. The part of him that thought that he wasn’t meant to be alive, that the matching piece of the puzzle for him didn’t exist, that he was living on borrowed time. The part that valued his house and the memory of his parents as the only precious things he had, the part that would have never walked out of his front door. That part had been dying during all his journey with the dwarves, little by little, and at the top of Ravenhill it had exhaled its last breath. And now Bilbo was free, free to start over, to live his life with the matching piece he now knew he had, to feel like he deserved his place in the world, and was not just a forgotten creature.

He did not tell all this to Thorin. The king saw something shifting in his eyes, saw the timid smile on his lips that spoke of a fresh start and the happiness of being loved. Thorin had heard too well Bilbo’s words at Ravenhill, his will to sacrifice himself for him, and he’d seen the serene expression at the knowledge that he was dying so that Thorin could be safe. He hadn’t understood what had made him earn what Bilbo was giving him, nor did he understand why the hobbit valued his life so much less than Thorin’s, especially after what he’d done to him at the gates. Thorin hated himself for it, and he knew he would try to make up for it for a lifetime, that was, if Bilbo was ever going to forgive him.

He didn’t know, but what he knew now was that Bilbo had come back to him, he had died but then he’d started living again, and that he would make sure his fight had been worth it, that he’d show him life was more than worth living.

Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield stared into each other’s eyes and saw many different things. But at least one thing they both saw: love. Simply, truly, even trivially, love.

Bilbo knew everything was going to be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody.  
> I'm not sure I make a lot of sense right now, I couldn't sleep so I thought I might as well finish this.  
> Hope you enjoyed!  
> Feedback is always welcome and very much appreciated.  
> UnheardMelody


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